3.

Cici

~~~

You know that feeling you get when you know something bad is about to happen, and it's inevitable? Only that this time, it's worse because you brought this upon yourself, so you can't really breathe, and your heart is beating in your stomach. You've just made a big mistake, and you can feel it deep in your bones because it's not the kind of mistake you can undo so you're just helpless and feeling like you're about to die?

Pretty dramatic, but it sums up how I feel right now.

"Are you okay, C? Are you still on the call?" Zarah taps my arm and my phone falls to my lap. "Who did you call? You look like you just talked to a ghost."

I shake my head.

She narrows her eyes and swallows, then with a slow nod her lips part. "So what are we going to do?"

My fingers scramble to pick the phone up again. "I should send him our location."

"Him?" Her eyes pop. “Don’t tell me by him you mean Mr. Jackson?" Her voice goes up a few octaves.

"No."

A shiver runs through my skin at the thought of calling that old man. He was my father's lawyer and close friend. Now he's my legal guardian, and the man I owe my life to.

He's also unaware I'm in this country, and I'd like to keep it that way.

Zarah says something I totally miss as I'm too busy pasting the location from the map into the text. I write down the description of the house then I send it.

"Now what?"

"We wait."

Silence surrounds us for not up to a minute before Zarah nudges my side. I lift my eyes from the carpeted floor to Valerie sitting in a corner, wiping her eyes.

I'm allowed to be mad at her. She lied to me, and deceived everyone who did anything at all to help get her life back together.

A sigh falls from my lips.

But she's also a pregnant woman who is alone and genuinely needs help.

"Do you want me to go talk to her?" Zarah asks and I shake my head.

"I'll do it."

Valerie wipes her eyes clean and clears her throat as I approach her, but before I can sit, she starts rambling.

"I know I should've told you everything. I know I should've mentioned our—my— involvement with the Mafia, but I underestimated them. I genuinely thought we'd be able to escape them."

Another sigh escapes my lips, a deeper one.

I fold my arms across my chest. "I’m angry, Valerie.”

“I know.”

I shake my head. “No, you don’t know. We’re in this mess because of you. You should’ve told me. If you had, I would’ve never compromised on security.”

"I'm sorry. I'm really, truly sorry. D only told me he got a loan and he was investing the money.” She’s crying now. “I didn’t know he stole it until they came looking for us.” She sniffs.

“What about the investment?”

I look at her swollen eyes and then at the hand resting protectively over her stomach.

“It was a scam.”

"Of course it was," Zarah mutters from where she's sitting. I pass her a look and she turns away.

"How's your face? I’m so sorry he slapped you. I can’t believe he did that,” Valerie says, inspecting my face.

"I can. Mafia men tend to be unpredictable.”

Valerie grips my hands. "You seem to know a lot about the mafia."

My heartbeat slows, and for a second I can't hear anything around me except a deep baritone voice yelling out my name in the distance. Quickly, I pull my hands from hers and clear my throat.

"I wouldn't say a lot," I reply, but it comes out strained.

Valerie watches me for a moment, her eyes bright and piercing, even in this dimly lit room.

"Have you ever encountered one?"

"Encountered one? I was married to one!" The words threaten to burst out of my throat, but I swallow them down painfully.

I shake my head and look away.

"I can’t say I have.”

"But you—" Heavy boots thumping down the hallway interrupt Valerie. My heart races and I quickly lock my phone, forcing it into the side of my bra to keep it hidden.

A few seconds later, whoever's behind the door kicks it open. It's Mr. Leader and he looks very angry and deathly.

Why does he have blood stains across his shirt? It wasn't there earlier and I didn't hear a soun—

"Well, well, well, if it isn't my runaway treasure," he slurs, then purses his lips to sniff.

Runaway treasure? What does he mean by that?

He walks toward us and his bloodshot eyes land on me before shifting to Valerie.

If a mafia man is unpredictable, then a not-sober one is a million times worse.

This is bad.

And where is HE?

Mr. Leader crouches down to match our height.

“I've thought of a way you can pay up," he says, his disgusting eyes roaming over her body and stopping at her stomach.

"I-I don't know how much money it is or how to pay it back," Valerie cries while Mr. Leader laughs and places his hand on her very large bump.

A creepy chill runs through the entire length of me. What is he thinking?

He wouldn't possibly—

"I’ll tell you what. I’ll take care of you, and when you give birth, your child belongs to me.” He says it like it’s a suggestion.

But I know better. It’s a done deal.

"T-take my c-child? I can't do that."

The lightheartedness emerging from him instantly drops and his eyes darken.

"I thought you might say that. So here are two options: My boy is bringing a contract up right now that you're going to sign to hand over your child to me after birth. You pay off your debt and go free. But if you refuse, I'll tie you up and dig the bastard out. Tonight."

Valerie's lips quiver.

She doesn't respond so he turns to me.

"That's fair, isn't it?"

I swallow hard and press my lips together.

"I asked you a question."

“I’m not sure,” I force the words out. Mr. Leader hums.

“You’re not sure.”

His hand suddenly comes up to my face and he cups it. "Why did you involve yourself with her?"

"She needed help."

He shakes his head, ogles me, then grabs my arm. I instantly put up a resistance, trying to wriggle out of his grip.

"Don't fight me, girl. Come with me."

"No!" I use my free hand to hit his chest repeatedly while trying to escape his grip. But he's strong. Too strong.

He has enough of my bitching around and instantly lets me go, pulling out his gun as my ass hits the carpet.

"Now, are you coming or should I shoot?"

Bang!

A thunderous sound from somewhere outside echoes through the atmosphere.

Everyone pauses.

"Those fucking bastards! I'm going to kill them all!" Mr. Leader spits. But just when we think he's going to rush down to see what the problem is, he takes a hold of my arm again and drags me towards the door.

"Wait! Sir, please wait!" Zarah calls out, but he pays her no mind, dragging me out the door.

Then he stops and turns around to face Zarah and Valerie.

"Depending on how good she is, I might take off a couple thousand,” he says to Valerie.

My stomach turns. I know exactly what he means.

Then he looks at Zarah.

“Don’t you dare think of doing anything that can get you killed.”

Bang!

Another shot, then another.

"I swear to God—" he mutters the rest of his words in Italian as he storms off, leaving me kneeling just in front of the open door. I waste zero time crawling in for my safety.

Zarah and Valerie rush to me, then we close the door and bolt it shut.

"What's going on out there?" Zarah mutters in a thicker Kenyan accent.

"I don't even want to imagine it."

Another gunshot slices through the air, but it's closer now, and I can hear voices screaming in Italian.

"He's here."

I don't know how I know it. Maybe it's instinct. Maybe it's because there is only one man I can imagine walking into a place like this with that kind of certainty.

Another gunshot cuts through the hallway. Whoever is shooting is here.

"Oh my God, they're getting closer," Valerie cries. Zarah motions for her to keep quiet.

Heavy boots march down the hallway, stopping to open the other doors along the way.

"We're going to die!" Valerie whispers and instantly places her hands over her mouth just as the footsteps stop outside our door.

The doorknob twists, once, twice. But the door doesn't budge.

My heart pounds against my ribs.

“No,” I whisper, my fingers trembling.

Then his voice comes from the other side.

“If you’re in there, move away.”

My entire body goes still.

That voice.

I know that voice.

We don’t even get the chance to move before two bullets tear through the lock. The door swings open on its own revealing my worst nightmare.

My eyes follow from the red soles of his black Christian Louboutin dress shoes, up to his three-piece, charcoal black suit hugging his frame.

A little higher, and my gaze collides with his, those dark eyes as familiar as they are unforgiving.

Eyes I haven’t seen in three years.

Eyes I spent those years trying to forget.

"Rafe."